Softly combing my fingers into her hair, I cup the back of Winter’s head and pull her close. “Are you all right?” I breathe.
Winter gives a gentle nod, seemingly speechless. The tension in my chest eases ever so slightly, and I release a breath before leaning in to press a kiss to her lips. Her hands hesitate momentarily, pushing against my chest as she resists the urge to kiss me back. Then, all at once, I feel her anger, her wound-up anxiety, release from her body as she leans into me, accepting my kiss. Her lips part, allowing me entry to her sweet tongue, and I take the opening, transitioning the kiss from one of frustration to one of passion.
It feels incredible to touch her knowing she’s carrying life inside her. Our child. And just as quickly, horribly jealousy constricts my heart at knowing I let the guys fuck Winter. I’m beyond thankful that I didn’t let them come in her pussy. I couldn’t stand the thought of her child not being mine. But now, she’s all mine, and no one else will ever get to touch her. All I want to do is keep her close, covet her, cherish her.
I grow hard at knowing I could come inside her all I want now because she’s already pregnant. I can feel the heavenly warmth of her pussy without a condom and make love to her raw to our hearts’ desire. But at the same time, I’m worried I might break her now. I’ll have to restrain myself. But I’m up for the challenge. I want to make her come as I fuck her slowly, gently, worshipping her body.
My fingers press her palms more firmly at the thought, and Winter cries out in pain. Immediately, I go soft as I pull back, startled because I hadn’t meant to hurt her. It only took my brain a second to catch up, and I gently lifted her bandaged hand to see blood staining her makeshift bandage from where I carved my initial into the base of her thumb.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t—I’ll go get clean bandages. You sit.” Delicately, I lead her to the bed, and she sinks onto it slowly.
Her emerald eyes are shocked and confused as I press a light kiss to her lips and then disappear out the door to find gauze and antibiotic ointment in the bathroom.
13
Gabriel
Winter’sstill sitting in the same spot on the bed when I return, her eyes downcast as she stares at the bloody bandage around her hand. Stepping quietly into the room, I close the door behind me. It’s strange to me how all the anger I felt about Winter’s actions has washed away, replaced only by protective concern. Of course, I don’t like what she did, but I can’t think about that now. I only want her and our child to be okay.
Sinking down onto the bed in front of her, I set the wrappings aside to collect her hand in mine. She lets me, her eyes tracking up to mine in silent confusion as if she doesn’t understand me now that I’m being nice. Her confusion stings because I’ve tried my best to show her I care. I’ve protected her, fought for her, and cared for her when no one else would. But apparently, it’s not enough.
Focusing on her palm, so I don’t have to witness her confusion any longer, I carefully untie and unwrap the soiled bandage. The cut isn’t too bad when I finally reveal it. The split in her flesh looks angry, but it’s already stopped bleeding very heavily. Only a few red dew drops collect along the edges.
I dab away the blood using a clean patch of the old bandage. I take up the antibiotic ointment and squeeze a generous portion onto my thumb so I can smooth it over the brand’s surface. Winter lets me take care of her without complaint. In fact, she doesn’t say anything as I work. She only watches my progress as I place a clean square of gauze over the ointment and then wrap it in place with a gauze bandage.
After carefully tucking the end of the bandage into the wrapped layers, I sandwich Winter’s hand between my own, willing it to heal quickly. But Winter only leaves it there for a moment before she withdraws her hand and turns away from me, averting her gaze.
“You can’t make me have this baby,” she says barely above a whisper, and her tone is a combination of hurt and defiant.
“It’s both of our decisions, Winter. You can’t just leave me out of the choice,” I reason, trying to show her understanding. But the fear that she might try to run away to the clinic again makes my heart pound.
“You’re not the one who has to give birth!” she shouts, her temper flaring as her cheeks turn pink. “Besides, why do you even want this baby?” Her green eyes blaze defiantly as she glares at me, crossing her arms to close herself off.
Frustration makes me grit my jaw as I try to remain patient with her, but I can’t. If she wants to be stubborn and force my hand, then fine. I don’t have to tell her I want this baby because it would be my chance at a family I’ve craved since losing my parents. She clearly doesn’t want the same, so it wouldn’t matter anyway. But I refuse to give in without at least making her consider the possibility of keeping it.
“You’re going to the doctor even if I have to drag you there myself,” I growl.
Rising from the bed, I stalk to the door and yank it open. Without a backward glance, I close and lock it behind me. I don’t trust Winter to stay in there right now, and I refuse to let her out of my sight until we have this figured out.
I might not have it all figured out right now. I don’t know how I’m going to convince Winter to keep the baby, but I can start with offering her a better life, one where she doesn’t have to hide away to be safe. And one where we won’t be living at the clubhouse.
Rico, Dally, and Knuckles watch me as I stalk past them. I can feel their eyes on me, but they don’t say anything, and neither do I. Instead, I head straight for the double doors separating our house from the clubhouse and step into the noisy din of bikers playing pool and drinking.
It doesn’t take me long to find Mark. He’s sitting on his typical couch, his arm slung around one of the club girls, and it makes me cringe to think I ever threatened Winter with becoming one of those girls. I never would have been able to go through with it. I want her too much, need her too much. And the thought of anyone else touching her makes me want to break something.
“Mark,” I greet, stepping up to the couch.
“I’m not cutting your punishment short. Don’t even try. Knuckles and Dallas already did.”
I wave off his comment, unconcerned with having to clean. While it’s not my favorite thing to do, I get it. Mark has to keep the club members under his thumb if he’s going to remain president, and he can’t have squabbling among us.
“That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.” I glance toward Sheila, the club girl under his arm. “Can we have a moment alone?”
She glances at Mark, and he pats her ass, indicating she should leave. As soon as she’s gone, I sit facing our president.
“What’s up?” Mark asks, his hazel eyes studying me carefully.
It’s been a minute since I’ve actually sat down and talked to Mark, and now that I’m seeing him up close, I can see how the stress of recent events has aged him. His long hair pulled back onto a ponytail is far more grey than it was even a few months ago, and the purple patches under his eyes say he’s spent too many sleepless nights. Momentarily, I feel a twinge of guilt about what I’m going to ask him, but I can’t dwell on it.